“I thought you said there were thousands,” someone muttered.
“What good is it to be a magician, then?” said Cottawilda.
“Let’s stick to the point,” said Sophie. “Where are these ruffians now?”
Witch Seymour shrugged. “One didn’t ask for their addresses. One was too busy running for one’s life.”
“Haven’t the trees told you where this king is?” a woman asked Jinx.
“Yes, go ask the trees,” Cottawilda ordered.
“They’ve told me,” said Jinx, mustering patience. “He’s in the east somewhere. He’s not cutting down trees. If he were, they’d know exactly where he was.”
“I expect,” said a woman, “he’ll try to get himself a clearing, won’t he? No one likes to be in among the trees where monsters might get you.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Witch Seymour. “The folk in Blacksmiths’ Clearing are making a stand. They want to know if you’re with them. They heard some rumor about a nation. They want to know if they’re in it.”
“Of course they’re in it,” said Hilda.
“We all are,” said Nick. “Anyone who’s Urwish. And Sophie of course.”
Hilda and Nick had been among the first people to really understand what Jinx meant about the Urwald being a country.
“Making a stand?” said Sophie. “You mean fighting?”
“Of course I mean fighting.” Witch Seymour put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “There’ve been battles.”
“I was afraid it would come to that,” said Sophie. “But we haven’t seen any fighting in the Window.”
“Nonetheless,” said the witch.
“Then we need to fight back,” said Jinx.
Witch Seymour looked around the kitchen. “Did one mention how many soldiers there are? And they have swords.”
“We have axes,” said Jinx.
“Enough axes?” said the witch. “And where do axes come from, pray tell?”
“And that’s why Reven is attacking the blacksmiths,” said Sophie. “We need to protect them. I should go talk to them.”
“I should go,” said Jinx. “And I’m going to talk to Reven, too.”
“Why does it always have to be you?” demanded Inga. “You could get hurt, you know, going so far away among strange people.”
Jinx clenched his teeth in annoyance. Inga, who came from Jinx’s home clearing and had once held his face down in pig muck when he was little, was thinking pink fluffy thoughts at him. He supposed he should be grateful, because at least it proved that Jinx wasn’t someone it was impossible to think pink fluffy thoughts about. But being Inga’s, these pink fluffy thoughts were overlaid with flat grayness. All her thoughts were. Inga was grayly afraid and incurious and just generally, well, flat.
Besides, Inga was at least four inches taller than him. Maybe she entertained some idea that she could still hold Jinx facedown in pig muck if she wanted to. She couldn’t, of course. Jinx was a lot stronger than he used to be, and he could do magic now, and anyway there was no way he’d ever let himself, Inga, and pig muck be in the same place again.
Sophie shook her head. “You can’t go. You’re too—”
Jinx shot her a look, and to his relief she stopped. No one else in the room thought Jinx was too young. Reaching the age of fourteen in the Urwald took considerable skill, sense, and luck.
“I should go, because I can make a ward to protect Blacksmiths’ Clearing,” he said. “And because Reven might listen to me.”
It was decided that Hilda and Nick would go with him, because they could use the doorpaths. Not everyone could. No matter how many times Jinx explained how to use a KnIP spell, some people still didn’t know the Doorways were there.
Sophie could use them, too, but she was also the only one who could keep the houseful of Urwalders from quarreling. So she had to stay behind.
Late that night, when he had Simon’s workroom to himself, Jinx opened the Eldritch Tome to see what Sophie had been hiding from him.
It was a passage he’d read before.
Let life equal death, and let living leaf equal cold stone. Take leaf to life, and dearth to death, and seal the whole at the nadir of all things.
Jinx had never been able to make anything of this. Had Sophie? He pushed a cat off her notebooks and looked.
In her first notebook, Sophie had translated this into Samaran, and Urwish, and then into Old Urwish, probably to see if it made sense in any of them.
Jinx looked at her second notebook, to see what she thought it meant.
She’d written
Life = death = meeting of paths? Fire and ice? Lifeforce/deathforce?
Living leaf = cold stone = repetition of above?
Dearth/death = ????
Jinx had a sudden memory. He picked up a pencil and wrote in the margin
I once met an elf named Dearth.
He knew what “nadir” meant. It meant the absolute lowest possible point. He thought of what Malthus had told him . . . that the Paths of Fire and Ice went down, much further than the roots of the Urwald. He turned the page to see what Sophie thought.
On the next page, Sophie had written
seal = Simon????
A Journey by Doorpath
Jinx went to the bottom of the staircase. “Sophie!”
She appeared at the top. “There’s no need to bellow, dear.”
“What does this mean?” He waved the open notebook at her.
“What does what mean?” she asked, starting down the stairs.
“What does ‘seal equals Simon’ mean? ‘Seal the whole at the nadir of all things’—you think that has something to do with Simon?”
Sophie took the notebook and went into the workroom. “I was just trying to think what that ridiculously abstruse passage might mean. Because of what came before, I thought it was talking about the Paths of Fire and Ice. And you did say that the Bonemaster had trapped Simon in something that looked like ice or glass.”
“But not at the nadir of all things!” said Jinx, feeling panicky. How many times could he lose Simon? “Simon was in a room at Bonesocket.”
“Or appeared to be,” said Sophie. “But—”
“What about ‘seal’?” Jinx demanded. “Why seal?”
“Well—” Sophie frowned at the notebook, and Jinx could see her thoughts struggling with each other. She wasn’t happy about this. “It does sound like the tome might be talking about connecting the Path of Fire to the Path of Ice. And it could be that Simon’s been put in place to form the connection.”
That didn’t sound good at all. “How the—”
“Language, Jinx.”
Jinx gritted his teeth. Simon had never said “Language, Jinx.” Simon considered swearing a useful skill. “How could the Bonemaster do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Sophie. “But the two paths seem to symbolize lifeforce and deathforce—”
“I think they kind of are lifeforce and deathforce.”
“—and Simon’s done both kinds of magic. So it might be that he was naturally able to touch both paths.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”
“Malthus might know,” said Jinx. “If we loaned him—”
“We’re not loaning the Eldritch Tome to anyone,” said Sophie. “It’s the only thing that can help us find Simon.”
Everyone followed Jinx out to the tree they called the Doorway Oak. It had rotted from the middle over the centuries so that it was like a small room, surrounded by a C-shape of tree trunk. Inside, if you knew they were there, you could see the overlapping arches of the dozen Doorways that Jinx had made so far.
There were doorpaths to the clearings that had been destroyed by the Bonemaster—Cold Oats Clearing, Badwater Clearing, and Jinx’s quondam home, Gooseberry Clearing. Those places were all thoroughly planted in beets, pumpkins, and potatoes now, to feed the people in Simon’s clearing.
There was no doorpath to Blacksmiths’ Clearing. Jinx
hadn’t bothered to make one because the only time he’d ever been there, they’d kicked him out.
Knowledge was the power that made a KnIP spell. Making the doorpaths required an enormous amount. Fortunately, Jinx could use other people’s.
He stepped into the trunk. The Urwalders crowded in as close as they could. The golden wires of their knowledge twisted and looped all around them. Jinx drew on it for power, and knew that Blacksmiths’ Clearing was right in front of him. A new Doorway opened, and he stepped through. Nick and Hilda were right behind him.
Everyone in Blacksmiths’ Clearing seemed big and grimy. And jumpy.
“That magician boy!” a woman said. “The one who turns people into stones! He’s come back.”
“I didn’t turn anyone into a stone,” said Jinx irritably. “I turned one guy into a tree.” And it had sort of been an accident. Largely.
The blacksmiths gathered round, their arms folded. And this was the thing—they were all blacksmiths. Men and women and all of the children except the very smallest. They had scorched eyebrows and smoke-colored faces.
“Witch Seymour told us you wanted to know if the rest of the Urwalders are with you,” said Nick.
“We came to tell you that they are,” said Hilda.
“Doesn’t look like it,” said a girl. She looked around her. “Seems like we’re all alone here.”
“We’ve come to help,” said Nick.
Expressions of pure skepticism greeted this announcement.
But the girl stuck her hand out. “Glad to hear it. Name’s Maud.”
They introduced themselves.
“We’ve been making weapons,” said Maud. She had brass-colored braids and a way of tilting her head back when she spoke so that Jinx’s view of her was mostly nostrils. “But we’ve run out of iron. We’ve had to turn our hoes and shovels into axes.”
“We’d make swords if we knew how to use ’em,” said a man. “But we don’t, so it’s axes. They’ve attacked us three times so far. We fight ’em off. But there’s been folks killed.”
Grim, tight, gray clouds around the blacksmiths’ heads. Packed into boxes the blacksmiths didn’t want to open.
“How many—” Nick began.
“They don’t want to talk about it,” said Jinx.
“Six,” said Maud.
“So far,” said a woman.
“So how are you going to help?” said Maud. “Can you turn the invaders into trees?”
“No,” Jinx admitted. It had taken all the Urwald’s power, plus really losing his temper, just to do that once. “But I can put up a ward.”
A purple cloud of disappointment from the blacksmiths—was that all?
“What’s a ward?” said Maud.
“It’s a magic shield,” said Hilda. “It will keep out anyone Jinx tells it to.”
The blacksmiths looked doubtful, but nodded. “If that’s the best you can do,” said a woman, with what Jinx thought of as typical Urwish gratitude.
Jinx walked the perimeter of the clearing, building the ward spell high and deep, arching it into a dome overhead, sending it far underground. He did it with the trees’ help. He used their power, and they used his.
When he got back to where he’d started from, the smiths were all staring at him, more disappointed than ever. “That’s it?” said a man.
Hilda and Nick smiled. “You might try walking out of the clearing, sir,” said Hilda.
The man hmphed and strode toward the forest. He clanged against the ward and fell to the ground.
“What good’s that?” he said, picking himself up. “We’re trapped in our own clearing.”
Patience, Jinx thought. And diplomacy. “I have to tell the ward who to let through.”
He taught the ward to recognize every man, woman, and child in the clearing—and himself, Hilda, and Nick. He could add other people later.
“Well, I suppose that’ll be some help,” said a woman.
“Are you kidding?” said Maud. “It’s great! Wait’ll those dastards try to invade our clearing again. Now if only we could get more iron.”
“The Wanderers’ll bring more,” said the woman. “You folks staying for dinner?”
They ended up staying the night. The blacksmiths served them a kind of stew made of turnips and porcupine.
“How many axes can you make?” Hilda asked, over dinner.
“None, until we get more iron,” said Maud. “We’re waiting for the Wanderers to bring it.”
In the morning, Jinx made doorpaths to some of the other eastern clearings. He left Nick and Hilda to go and do the explaining; Jinx had been thrown out of most of these clearings in the past and he didn’t want to waste time reforming his reputation.
He needed to find Reven.
“He’s in the Storm Strip,” said Maud.
“Then what’s he need a clearing for?” said Jinx. “The blowdown went on for miles. That’s plenty of space.”
“He wants our clearing because we’re blacksmiths. Blacksmiths means weapons.” Maud rubbed her nose thoughtfully. “I suppose he wants to be closer to Keyland, too. He can’t get from the Storm Strip to Keyland in a day’s march. You want me to take you to their camp?”
“No, thanks,” said Jinx. “It’s better if I go alone.” Now that he was closer, the trees would tell him exactly where to find the Terror.
“They’re a few miles down the strip, west by southwest.” Maud pointed. “But you’re going to have to go down the path—”
“No, I’ll just cut straight through the woods,” said Jinx. “Thanks.”
“You shouldn’t go off the path,” said Maud. “There’s all kinds of dangerous things.”
“I know,” said Jinx.
Of course he knew there were dangerous things in the forest. He was one of them.
Jinx remembered the storm that had formed the Storm Strip. He’d been caught out in it, and nearly killed. Great blasts of wind had brought down all the trees in some places, but left the younger, more flexible trees standing in others.
The trees explained to Jinx as he walked along—here, there had been a sudden harsh wind that had lasted for a mile and uprooted everything—there, a lightning strike had set a fire that the rain had doused.
It’s like a lot of new clearings, Jinx couldn’t help thinking. He knew the forest would take a different view.
He had to climb over heaps of fallen trees. Once a startled lynx leapt out from among the tree trunks and snarled at him—probably protecting kittens, Jinx thought as he backed away.
Where the tree trunks lay deepest, burying the ground, there were no saplings or seedlings. We really could have new clearings here, Jinx thought.
Why did you let Reven back into the Urwald? Jinx asked the trees.
Let. We did not “let” the Terror in. The Restless go where they will.
Before, said Jinx, you used a wind to blow him into Bone Canyon.
Perhaps. The trees had never exactly admitted to this. But the wind was already blowing.
But you could’ve done something, said Jinx. Summoned monsters or something. I know you can summon monsters.
The trees murmured and rippled. They didn’t like to admit this, either. There is less strength now, they said. Less power. It is more difficult. The lifeforce ebbs away, and so the Restless invade.
Jinx was about to ask them what they meant, when he heard voices up ahead. He paused, and remembered the acting lessons his Samaran friend Satya had given him. He had to look—no, he had to be—completely confident. He walked on, as if he belonged here, among the Keylanders cooking in front of tents and log huts.
The further he walked, the more tents and cabins there were. And the more soldiers. Some were drilling, practicing deadly sword thrusts. They looked very efficient.
He tried to count people in clusters—ten here, twenty there. Hundreds. He lost count. Hundreds of swords and axes. There were no logs underfoot here—they’d all been cleared away and used to make walls between the camp and
the forest.
“Hey! Enemy in the camp!”
Men ran at him, brandishing swords. Jinx was still struggling to put a ward around himself—it was slow work, with no trees nearby to give him power—when they surrounded him. They grabbed his arms and pulled them behind him. Swords bristled at Jinx from all sides. Above them was a crowd of hostile faces.
“I know this boy!” a man said. “He turned my boss into a tree and then he made axes rain down from the sky!”
Jinx recognized him as one of the Keylish lumberjacks he’d caught cutting trees in the Urwald.
“I’ve come to see Reven,” said Jinx.
“Who?” said one of the hostile faces.
“He means the king,” said another.
“Let him say it, then,” said someone else. “Make him say ‘king.’”
Jinx shrugged. “‘King.’ I’m here to see King Raymond, who told me his name was Reven.”
“Well, you ain’t going to see him,” said the soldier who had spoken first. “You know what we do to woodrats who wander into our camp?”
“Hey, who’s that? I know that voice.” A new face appeared above the tangle of swords. “I know that boy. He’s a friend of my stepdaughter’s. And I don’t care for the word woodrat.”
The man who’d said woodrat muttered something that might have been an apology, but not to Jinx.
“Hello, Helgur,” said Jinx, surprised. What was Elfwyn’s stepfather doing in the enemy camp?
Helgur gave Jinx a curt nod. “This boy is a friend of the king. My stepdaughter brought him and the king to visit my wife once. If he says he wants to see the king, it’s probably all right.”
The sword points didn’t go away. The hostile faces muttered.
“If you gentlemen don’t care to take the word of a ‘woodrat,’” said Helgur, “send to the king and ask him yourself.”
More muttering.
“We’ll do that,” someone said finally.
“Just don’t any of you let your guard down,” said the lumberjack. “The boy’s a very dangerous magician.”
“What are you doing here?” Jinx asked Helgur.
“Visiting,” said Helgur. His thoughts were boxed in and uncertain. He seemed to feel he’d given Jinx all the help he could, and was not sure whether he regretted it. So Jinx stood surrounded by sword points for what seemed like hours.
Jinx's Fire Page 2